


Uchaya

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Pet Play, Self-Lubrication, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock misunderstands roleplay, though fortunately, Jim’s always willing to hit the nail on the head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uchaya

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s very, very rare that Spock leaves the bridge first. Today, he vacates his station the second his shift is over, and Jim is the one left wandering, waiting on Sulu to slip into his chair and finishing up a playful argument with Bones. By the time he’s through the doors, his first officer’s gained a good quarter of an hour on him, and Jim can’t help but wonder what’s waiting for him in his quarters. 

Likely a busy science officer keyed into the computer, reading new reports. But it could also be a setup game of 3D chess, or perhaps, if Jim is particularly lucky, one of his favourite classical science fiction novels, newly replicated and ready to be read aloud by two lovers snuggled together on the couch. Spock doesn’t understand the purpose of reading together, but he does it all the same, and he occasionally murmurs between chapters a subtle, _“Fascinating.”_ And Jim will wink and smile and say, _“And we’re not even at the good part yet.”_ Every sentence read aloud to Spock’s quiet interest is a good part, especially when their legs are intertwined and there’s a blanket draped over them, Spock’s electric fingers gliding idly over his thigh. 

He’s grinning when he stands outside his doors. The memories are as good as the anticipation. The Enterprise reads him, slides smoothly open for him, and Jim steps inside, just far enough for the doors to whiz shut again. There’s no chess set on his coffee table and there isn’t a waiting boyfriend on his couch. 

Before he can look anywhere else, he tackled from the side, so fast and sudden that he can only cry out in shock, hand instinctively shooting to his hip where a phaser would be, were this an away mission and not the safety of his quarters. He hits the deck on his shoulder, not quite hard enough to damage, though there is a jolt of pain. Then he’s abruptly rolled onto his back, a heavy weight settling over his lap, a long, flaccid cock nestled right along his crotch. 

Spock, wearing nothing at all, bears down on him. Jim opens his mouth in surprise, then purses his lips, expecting to be kissed, but Spock turns his head aside. He opens his bow lips wide and sticks out his tongue, laving it up the side of Jim’s cheek. Shock freezes Jim, but the warm, spongy texture of his lover’s tongue melts him back out. Spock licks at him again, then again, lapping at him with equal parts hunger and playfulness, like a newborn puppy with a new master. Spock’s hands wrest on either side of Jim’s chest, though his knees support most of his weight, so Jim’s own confusion is the only thing pinning him down. 

As Spock runs his tongue along the underside of Jim’s jaw, Jim asks, “What’s going on?” He doesn’t know whether to be worried or aroused. The behaviour isn’t Spock, but the body certainly is, and it’s impossible for Jim to have a lap full of naked Vulcan without growing hard. Especially when it’s _his_ Vulcan, and he can feel the usual spark of their connection through Spock’s hands, palms imprinting that first touch with a surge of near-telepathic warmth. If he didn’t feel that, he might think Spock was possessed. 

But Spock stops at Jim’s question and straightens up, face donning its usual impassive tone. He says simply, so calm and collected, “I am engaging in the act of ‘pet play,’ which you expressed an imminent interest in last night.”

Jim barely catches himself in time to stop his snort. This is too precious, and the last thing he wants to do is embarrass Spock and end it. As usual, his lover’s misunderstood, but it’s the thought that counts, and Spock’s effort is always adorable. Somehow, Jim can’t place Spock as a dog, and a cat would never do this, so he asks, “What pet are you?”

“A sehlat,” Spock answers. “When my father was not around, this is how I-Chaya would often greet me.”

Biting the corner of his lip to stifle a smirk, Jim asks, “Where’s your collar?”

Spock lifts an eyebrow. Though he’s stopped his oral assault, he’s still completely naked and sitting on Jim’s most sensitive era, and the effect is very much a sexual one despite Spock’s expressionless answers. With one hand reaching for Spock’s hip, Jim’s other one traces the delicate lines of Spock’s collarbone, up along his throat. He would look _delicious_ in a collar, perhaps with the Starfleet symbol on a pendant hanging from the front, or the engraved words: _property of James T. Kirk._ Instead, Spock replies, “That is not a common practice on Vulcan.”

Jim says, “Okay,” and makes an effort to mask his disappointment. Spock is still good free. Spock knows whose science officer he is, anyway, and to whom he’ll always return. Jim lets his hand curve around Spock’s neck to slide through the neatly trimmed black hair, and he gives a little tug to gesture Spock down. 

Spock obeys, like he usually does—Jim’s first to the last. When he’s low enough, Jim lifts to peck him on the lips, quick and chaste but full of love; he appreciates the effort. Confusion flickers over Spock’s eyes—he never seems to know when he’s doing something cute. Jim murmurs, “For the effort,” and Spock nods his head like he understands. Then Jim asks, grinning coyly, “Can I still take you for a walk?”

Spock nods again. It doesn’t need to be said that they can’t leave their quarters like this—their relationship is fairly well known but controlled; outside of their private chambers, they’re professional, and as much as Jim would like to leave bite marks on Spock’s ears and a collar around his neck, Jim keeps himself in line. Spock climbs gingerly off Jim’s lap, while Jim watches his cock bob with the movement and his tight, green-tinted balls bounce beneath them. Spock’s body is long, lithe but toned, yellow-green in places and covered in dark hair in others, like the base of Spock’s dick in a trail up to his navel. He’s a beautiful creature, as Jim’s told him again and again, although it took a while for him to believe it. Jim had to push it through their bond during melds, loud and sincere and undeniable, until he broke through the cautious shell to convince his lover: _you are so, so loved._

Now they have complete trust. Spock can be bare in Jim’s presence and not bat an eyelash, and Jim could do the same. He keeps his clothes on now for the sake of the game, though the temptation to strip and tackle Spock is growing. When he gets to his feet, Spock lowers to all fours, and he follows when Jim moves. Jim walks unusually slowly, just to prolong this moment. He takes them towards the bedroom, watching Spock every step of the way. He crawls with the practiced grace only a Vulcan could have, shoulders flexing with each passage, hips swaying to follow. Jim’s eyes linger down the curve of his spine and the hump of his rear, the taut cheeks of his ass. It’s moments like this that make Jim wonder why he ever leaves his quarters. 

But when he reaches the doorway into the bedroom area, Spock stops. He sits down, hands sliding back between his knees. Jim turns on the spot. “What is it?”

Spock says, “Sehlats are not allowed in the bedroom.” Jim snorts again, though Spock’s serious. He always takes things too literally. And it’s a shame, because Jim was looking forward to cuddling with his giant teddy bear atop plush sheets. But he doesn’t bother arguing. Spock’s too handsome like this to fight, and Jim’s always been flexible. 

So he sinks down to his knees instead. Cupping Spock’s face in his hands, Jim brings his lips right against Spock’s and hisses, “Then I’ll just have to take you on the floor like an animal.” Spock’s cheeks instantly flush green, and though he struggles to hide it, can never keep his lust from Jim for long. Jim makes his human side _rage_ in moments like this, and Jim kisses Spock _hard_ before his lover can disagree. Jim pries Spock’s mouth open with his tongue and feverishly explores it, enjoying every little taste just as much as he did the first time. Kissing Spock is always exciting. Holding Spock is always wonderful. He never doubts that this is the man _meant_ for him, and he shows it in the way he worships Spock’s mouth, only parting when Spock tilts so their foreheads press together. 

“We certainly do not mate with our sehlats,” he murmurs, making Jim chuckle fondly and thumb Spock’s warm cheek. He can tell through their bond that Spock’s genuinely surprised, although he should expect nothing less when he’s naked like this. Perhaps one day, Jim will age and mature enough to look at Spock without wanting to _fuck him into the floor_ , but that hasn’t happened yet. 

Jim asks, smiling wide, “What kind of game did you think this was?”

Lifting one arched eyebrow, Spock answers, “You merely explained a ‘roleplay’ of domestic animals.”

“A _sexual_ roleplay.”

“I had not assumed you wished to engage in sexual activities with animals.”

Jim deliberately doesn’t rise to the bait. He can banter with Spock as sharply as Bones, but his pants are too tight for that right now, and it’s easier to tilt his head and nip at Spock’s ear, purring into it, “I wish for sexual activities with _you_ , in a game where you’re _mine_ , you never cover up this gorgeous body with clothes, and you do nothing all day but sit right here, craving my touch, waiting until you can crawl to my feet.” He ends by running his tongue along the pointed shell, his hands now slipping down Spock’s bared neck and strong shoulders, over his taught chest to palm his nipples. Spock shudders, arching into it—for all his regal shows, Jim knows just where to touch to make Spock _moan_. He knows Spock’s body like the back of his hand. He’s tasted every bit of it before, stuck his fingers and tongue into every nook and cranny, and he knows all the sensitive spots. He knows where to rub, where to stroke, where to rake his fingernails down. The very tip of Spock’s ear is one of those special zones, where if Jim digs his teeth in just right, Spock will release a tiny keening noise and maybe _whimper_.

Spock breathes, “I might understand.” It sounds thick, husky.

Jim rewards him by sucking on that pointed top and growling, “ _Good boy._ ”

Before Spock can say another word, Jim pulls back and turns him, pushing at his sides, and Spock allows himself to be put back on all fours. He lets Jim herd him around, facing back towards the door, so Jim can mount him like a dog. Jim wraps his arms around Spock’s waist, his hands roving all over Spock’s front and his clothed cock straining against Spock’s ripe ass, he thrusts forward. Spock’s sturdy and takes it. 

He doesn’t have to finger Spock’s hole. Sometimes he does, just because he likes to feel his lover’s body, and he’s spent hours before burying his hands and face in Spock’s tight rear. But on days like this, where he’s already hard and wanting, it’s easier to let Spock’s natural Vulcan biology do the work. Jim holds Spock’s hip and rocks into him, grinding them together to keep Spock stimulated, even though he can feel in Spock’s body that Spock’s aroused. Pinching one pebbled nipple with the other hand, Jim casually asks, “Do sehlats prepare themselves for their mate?”

“I do not know,” Spock answers—a rarity for him. Jim doesn’t push it. Swallowing and sucking in a quick breath, Spock adds, “But I will endeavor to do so for my captain.”

“Good,” Jim purrs, before he grazes along Spock’s shoulder with his teeth. He twists Spock’s nipple just enough to make Spock’s breath hitch, and then he tugs it forward instead. “Because you know I like you nice and wet for me...”

Spock doesn’t answer. His head hangs, his shoulders squaring in an effort to regain control, but it’s too late—Jim’s consumed him. Jim reaches for the other nipple and gives it the same treatment, then dips his other hand along Spock’s thigh, smoothing over the soft skin and coarse hairs up to the taut balls hanging beneath the long shaft. Rolling them around in his palm, Jim mutters, “Tell me when you’re ready, baby.”

He knows how far gone Spock is when he gets no reaction to the Terran nickname, Spock instead groaning, “ _Jim_...”

That’s enough for him. Jim separates them just enough to thrust a hand into his pants, quickly shuffling them down to pull out his cock. He has the tip lined up against Spock’s puckered brim a moment later. The stretched entrance twitches in anticipation, a single bead of clear liquid drizzling out, thick and warm. Jim takes one extra second just to enjoy the view, and then he shoves his way inside. 

The first push is always exhilarating. Spock gasps, so _responsive_ , his veneer shattered the moment they connect. Jim grunts, teeth grit—Spock’s so _tight_ and _hot_ , but soaking wet around him, and a tentative push through their bond assures him that it doesn’t hurt. All he feels is Spock’s desire for _more_. Spock would join them in to one if he could. If they didn’t have other duties, Spock would want to make love for _hours_. But Jim’s a mere human, and he can never last that long with how perfectly they fit together. He waits out the dizziness of rapture, and then he pushes forward, enjoying every second of the way. 

He pauses again when he reaches the base, fully sheathed in Spock’s body. He grinds in just to be sure, but he’s as deep as he can go. Spock’s silken walls flutter around him, growing used to the intrusion, though they’ve done this so many times that it’s as natural as being apart. The first moment to adjust is for Spock, but the second is for Jim. He clutches Spock close to him and groans happily, “We should do this every day.”

“We do,” Spock answers, voice just as broken. He’s right. Jim meant the whole thing—Spock waiting for him, stripped, maybe already wet and posed in offering. But then, he doesn’t always want a pet. Some days he wants a lover, a best friend, a science officer, a _t’hy’la_. And then others, he doesn’t _care_ , he just wants _Spock_ , in any way shape or form he can have it. 

He slowly starts pulling out, gets a little more than halfway, and then shoves back inside so hard that Spock’s thrown forward, Jim’s arms catching him. Then Jim gives him another thrust, then another, working into a smooth, steady rhythm of merciless thrusts that lock them both together. Over the sound of their panting, slapping flesh-on-flesh rings off his bare walls. Before long, Spock’s eagerly meeting him back, ass thrust out to take his thick cock. Each time Spock’s body sucks Jim in, pleasure coils up his veins, and he buries his face in Spock’s neck, kissing it and struggling not to suck and leave bites for all his crew to see. 

“You can sleep in the bed tonight,” Jim mutters around moans. “You’ve been such a good pet for me...”

“You spoil me,” Spock breathes. Jim wants to laugh but doesn’t have the air. He kisses Spock’s jaw instead, because he can’t reach Spock’s mouth. Every time he drives into Spock, he can _feel_ Spock’s pleasure in his hands, and that only intensifies his own. Spock doesn’t at all seem to mind getting fucked on the floor like an animal, and he’s just as beautiful like this as he would be laid out on expensive sheets, with Jim worshipping him like the prince he is. 

When he can think coherently enough for it, Jim splays his hand across Spock’s side, feeling the rapid pulse of Spock’s heart. The other runs through the rough trail of dark hairs to reach Spock’s hard cock, swinging freely between his legs. Jim’s fucking him so hard that it slaps his stomach each time, until Jim grabs it tight and squeezes, drinking in Spock’s erotic growl. Everything he does like this is so _sensual_ without even trying: a constant temptation to his captain. Sometimes, Jim wonders how they managed to resist fucking one another hard against the wall the very first time they laid eyes on each other—how did they take so long to see it? No one fits around Jim as well as Spock, fits inside him so well, makes him feel so utterly divine. They’re so different, and yet Spock is _perfect_ for him, and Jim loves him so much that he can barely function—he becomes a trembling mass of _want_ and _need_. He’s sweating against his clothes and trying to pound into Spock so hard that he’ll collapse, but Vulcan strength holds Spock up. Jim pants into his neck, redundant and useless, “You’re _so_ good for me...”

Spock shivers. He can race for hours under a stifling sun without spilling a drop of sweat, but Jim’s cock can undo him so completely. Jim pumps Spock’s engorged dick in his hand to he beat of his own thrusts, his whole world filling up with the smell and taste and sound of the other half of his soul. 

He comes with a scream, bursting suddenly inside Spock’s warm body, his hips slamming forward with bruising force, but still Spock takes it. Jim humps Spock rapidly, milking it all out, faint and weightless and boneless and so, _so good_ , until there’s nothing left of him to give. 

Even in the wake of his orgasm, he tries to keep going. It only takes a few more thrusts and pumps of his hand for Spock to follow, his seed spouting out around Jim’s fingers, painting the carpet below. Only when Spock stills does Jim pull out, breathing hard and dragging cum with him. It leaks down Spock’s ass, trickling around his thighs, the white mingled with the clear juices from Spock’s channel. Jim stares at it, then moves aside. 

He collapses on the floor next to Spock, his spent cock still hanging out of his pants. Spock stays on all fours like he’s been sculpted that way, but he looks at Jim with dark, dilated eyes. 

After a few moments of coming down and enjoying the quiet company, Jim starts, “Tomorrow—” But he stops as Spock lowers down to lie on the floor along Jim, his head resting on Jim’s shoulder and his leg tossing over Jim’s. It’s not the most comfortable place to be, but Jim’s not ready to move yet. He finishes, “Tomorrow, let me get back first. I’ll be your dog, and you’ll see what I meant.”

To Jim’s surprise, Spock muses, “And you will wear a collar?”

“And a leash,” Jim laughs, “so you can take me anywhere you like.”

Spock’s eyes flicker through the doorway. He asks, “Are dogs allowed in the bedroom?”

Jim rolls onto his side, which forces Spock to adjust. It lets him rest his head on his arm, and he looks at his lover, eyeing Spock’s body, Spock’s face, the love in Spock’s eyes. He purrs, “I’ll be yours. I’m allowed anywhere you say.”

Spock lifts two fingers. Jim meets them halfway, the tips pressing flush together. They kiss like that until they have the energy to move, when they become two men again, with duties to do like shower with their fingers intertwined.


End file.
